The Lost Photographs
by CinderellaAtTheBall
Summary: Kreacher searches for the Black family photographs that Master Sirius has hidden. He must find them, or else what would his poor Mistress say? (Kreacher's POV.)


_Written for Hogwarts Challenges and Assignments - Term 11, Assignment 8: __**Foreign Exchange, Task #12: write about searching for something important. **_

_Word count:_ _1,085_

_Note: I'm not sure what the Apparition equivalent for house elves is; therefore, I have referred to it as "teleporting." Thanks, Gwen, for that suggestion!_

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**The Lost Photographs**

Master Sirius had moved the Black family photographs.

Kreacher felt his tiny hands ball into fists as rage built inside of him. He was so angry that he wanted to scream. He had always known that Master Sirius was a no-good, thieving traitor — this merely confirmed it. No wonder his poor Mistress had been so ashamed of him.

The elf would have liked to stand there and curse his master with his foulest oaths, but he knew that he couldn't. He needed to hurry and find those photographs before his master got rid of them. They were part of the dwindling number of Black family memorabilia in the house and far too important to lose — Kreacher could only imagine how furious his poor Mistress would be if she knew that they were gone forever.

The first place he looked was up in the attic. Sometimes Master Sirius put things up there because he knew that Kreacher would have trouble climbing the stairs. Pure spite invigorated the elf, however, and he was able to reach the attic in record time.

The room was musty and filled to bursting with ancient Black family heirlooms as well as items that members had used in their day-to-day lives. Kreacher even spotted a black hat that his Mistress had favored, now covered in a thin layer of dust that made it appear grey. He didn't know why Master Sirius hadn't gotten rid of these items yet — perhaps he was unable due to enchantments put on them — but he couldn't think about that just then. All that mattered was saving those precious photographs. Kreacher could not — _would_ not — fail his Mistress the way that he had failed Master Regulus.

"Kreacher will find those photographs, yes," he said to himself. "Kreacher will do whatever it takes."

At first, he was rather overwhelmed by the years and years of history thrown haphazardly into the storage space. Muttering under his breath, he tried to sort through the piles and bags of things as quickly as he could. Once, Kreacher thought he heard his master calling him and he froze, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. It turned out Master Sirius had not summoned him, however, much to his relief.

After an hour, the elf was forced to conclude that Master Sirius had hidden the photographs elsewhere. He walked down the attic stairs, head bowed in dejection, thinking about where he could search next. He checked the large wooden wardrobe in Mistress Walburga and Master Orion's room, but found nothing there. As he was standing there racking his brain to figure out what could have become of the pictures, Master Sirius walked in.

"Master Sirius," Kreacher croaked, glaring forcefully at him as he sank into a low bow.

His master looked around the room quickly before giving Kreacher a suspicious look. "What are you up to, Kreacher?" His voice was laced with disgust, and Kreacher wished more than ever that his Mistress was still alive. She was always so kind to him.

He bowed again. "Kreacher was only trying to find some peace and quiet, oh yes, now that his Mistress's house is filled with Mudbloods and traitors and scum—"

"That's enough, Kreacher," his master interrupted loudly. Kreacher continued to mumble under his breath, but he was quiet enough that the wizard did not repeat himself. "Now, go make yourself useful. We need cleaning supplies in the drawing room."

Kreacher bowed a third time and left the room, still hissing quietly about the company Master Sirius was keeping. He took his time heading downstairs, having resolved to follow his master's orders as slowly as possible when he could get away with it. After retrieving the cleaning supplies, he then headed to the drawing room, where he deposited them unceremoniously in front of the redheaded blood traitors, their Mudblood companion, and the Potter boy. Like Master Sirius, none of them seemed pleased to see him. Kreacher was sure one of the brats even made a rude gesture behind his back as he left, judging by the giggles that erupted.

Having done as his master ordered, he climbed back up the stairs to resume his search for the photographs. He wondered if there was somewhere Master Sirius wasn't expecting him to look. Somewhere like—

"Master's bedroom," Kreacher murmured. He never went in there — not only had his master made it clear that Kreacher was not to touch any of his things, but the elf had no intention of seeing whatever awful things Master Sirius had done to the room anyway. The door was always locked, but maybe Kreacher could teleport into a locked room. After all, his magic worked differently than that of wizards, and he doubted his master would have realized that.

He stood outside the room for a moment, weighing his options. If Master Sirius caught him, he couldn't kick Kreacher out of the house — he knew too much. The worst he could do was have Kreacher punish himself. That decided it for him. He was going in.

A loud _crack_ later and Kreacher stood inside his master's bedroom. He wrinkled his nose at the vulgar, non-magical posters fixed to the wall. His eyes watered from the crimson and gold color scheme that pervaded the room. It was as bad as he had feared, and it made him want to search for the photographs even more quickly.

He didn't find them rifling through Master Sirius' closet or chest of drawers. They weren't on the messy desk or concealed in any of its drawers, either, but when the elf lowered himself onto his knobbly knees to look under the bed, he spotted what appeared to be the glint of a gilded picture frame. Upon seeing that, he grabbed the clear bag that the frame was in and pulled with all of his might. Several frames clinked together as he tugged the bag out from under the bed. Kreacher almost cried with joy when he realized that he had found the photographs. He hadn't failed his Mistress after all.

Quickly, he scooped the bag to his chest and teleported to his den in the basement with another loud _crack_. There, he realised that the glass in most of the frames had been shattered, likely due to the lack of regard his master had for them. He would have to repair them later, but for now, he was going to look through them and spend some time remembering better days.


End file.
